


Fuck The UNSC, All My Homies Hate The UNSC

by doctor_bitchface_phd



Category: HLVRAI - Fandom, Half-Life, Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aliens, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Arm Trauma, Halo au, IN SPACE!, Multi, this goes both ways!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26202073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor_bitchface_phd/pseuds/doctor_bitchface_phd
Summary: Gordon Freeman has some trouble with the space feds.
Kudos: 13





	Fuck The UNSC, All My Homies Hate The UNSC

The UNSC. The motherfucking UNSC. The guard dogs for every capitalistic fuckface to ever disgrace and exploit the outer colonies, and the secret police, fucking ONI, disappearing anyone who ever looked at a propaganda poster funny.

Gordon Freeman hated the UNSC with a passion. 

Standing in the minimalistic little lobby, having just stepped off of the cramped shuttle and through the airlock, he stood in front of a viewing window of the empty void outside, almost reminiscent of a picture window.

Through the reinforced plastic, Gordon saw a vast, glittering blanket of stars, white pinpricks shining against a backdrop of subtle blues and purples, indigos and cobalts. It was indescribably beautiful, the dark hues mixing and blending in subtle waves behind the bright, glinting points of light.

How had he even gotten here? He was a physicist, and a well paid one at that, studying the quantum mechanics of the Shaw-Fukijawa Translight Engine for ways to make slipspace travel faster, safer, and more accurate, all for the sake of the UNSC Navy.

Of course, he just had to stumble across some weird files, had to open them, had to be fucking horrified by the shit he saw, and had to immediately become what seemed like the number one target for ONI spooks. After a car “accident” cost him his arm, he had finally had enough, opting to move somewhere a little less. . . policable; Venezia had looked good in the brochure. After a few weeks of sending out resumes and adjusting to life around the variety of aliens residing in the planet’s capital city, a particularly shady potential employer had called back, offering him a research position on an orbiting space station. At least he was reasonably safe from ONI’s hounds.

They took his fucking son. Even now, nearly eight months later, he wanted to kill someone just thinking about it.

A vast shadow fell onto the researcher, some unseen form blocking out the cold, artificial light of the overhead lamps, and forcing him out of his own thoughts and back to the void in front of him.

“It- It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” A gruff, yet almost amusingly high-pitched voice could be heard from behind him; turning to the unseen person, a wall of shaggy, sandy-blonde fur filled his vision, and as he glanced up at the enormous figure, he unconsciously took a step back; he knew he would have alien coworkers on the tiny space station, but he wasn’t prepared for just how massive some of them would be. The Brute (Was Jiralhanae more proper?) had to be nine feet tall, at the very least; though he didn’t want to be rude, their height was more than a little off putting. 

Cloaked in a lab coat large enough for the average human to use as a blanket, the alien’s height-based intimidation was compounded by a broad, powerful build, with shoulders as wide across as his arm was long; bright, golden-yellow eyes gazed down at him, set in a round face framed by thick, soft looking fur the color of tortilla chips. A warm smile graced their short, stubby snout, despite the jagged fangs poking up between their lips.

“Well- Uh, yeah, it is. Beautiful, that is.”

He cringed internally as his voice cracked; so much for a good first impression.

“I’m- My name is Tommy.”

. . . Huh. Gordon wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

“Well- Uh. I’m Gordon Freeman. I, uh. I’m here for a- a uh. A job.”

Gordon cringed externally at his own display of social ineptitude, though Tommy didn’t seem to mind, their expression shifting to one of excitement.

“Oh! You- You must be the new physicist they were talking about! Here, follow me, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the science team.”

Through cold, sterile halls tiled in off-white and dull green, interrupted only by the occasional dully glinting steel door, Gordon trailed just behind his apparent new coworker, uneager to get lost in the claustrophobic labrynthine corridors. Finally, his impromptu guide stopped just short of a particularly large door, clearly made to accompany alien physiology; Gordon could hear yelling just behind it, muffled by layers of tile and concrete. A loud thump against the door startled him; though disconcerting, the violence was followed by giggling, so he supposed the people inside at least probably weren’t trying to murder each other.

“Oh- Don’t worry, that’s just Bubby and Coomer.”

Does everyone on this station have a weird-ass name? They sounded human enough, but considering that he was standing next to a Jiralhanae named “Tommy”, Gordon had his doubts.

Putting a small keycard up to a wall scanner next to the door, the heavy slab of steel quietly slid open, and, before he could even process anything in the room, a low, monotone voice called out,

“hey, can i see your passport?”


End file.
